Under His Wings

by Naima Simone

  Both her mouth and sex watered at his gorgeous nakedness.

  The dreams had been real to her, but being here with him in real life…it was like comparing black-and-white to hi-definition. One was great until you discovered and experienced the other. Then there was no going back.

  “Damn!” Nicolai froze, a scowl darkening his face. Without warning he jackknifed to his feet, barked, “Don’t you dare move,” and stalked naked from the living room.

  She obeyed. Not out of fear—her limbs were still Jell-O after her last orgasm.

  Short moments later, he returned. Dropping to his knees between her legs, he lifted a silver square to his mouth, gripped it between his white teeth and ripped a strip from the top. Damn. It had completely slipped her mind to request protection. She’d never been that forgetful. Not even with—her mind slammed down before it could complete the sentence. Bringing him into the room seemed blasphemous.

  Nicolai sheathed his cock and in a blur of movement fell over her in an animalistic crouch, resembling a great lion more than the eagle-stallion combination of his true form. His head lowered and he captured her mouth in a hot kiss that left her panting. Hunger flared in her belly, clenched her sex as if the powerful orgasm had been hours ago instead of minutes.

  “Put your legs and arms around me,” he said against her lips, voice guttural, harsh. “Hold onto me. And don’t let go.”

  God, that was her fear. When the time came, she feared she wouldn’t be able to let go. A tremble unconnected to desire skittered through her as she complied with his demand.

  His cock pushed into her and simultaneously chased the frightening thought from her mind.

  She gasped. Now this remained the same. The burning and stretching of her pussy as the head probed then penetrated her body, followed by the first couple of inches of wide, thick cock. She hissed in pain-laced pleasure as her muscles flexed around his rigid flesh, attempting to relax and adjust.

  “Hmmm,” he hummed, one hand palming the back of her neck and the other cupping the curve of her ass, holding her off the floor and pressed to his body. His strength awed her, made her feel delicate and safe. “Do that again.”

  Do what again? He’s the one doing all the work.

  Another low chuckle. “Squeeze me with your pussy again,” he clarified. A groan, long and sensual, rolled from his chest as she clenched her walls around the length of him embedded inside her. “Yes,” he said, tilting her head back and burying his face in her throat. “Like that.”

  His hips withdrew, dragging his cock out those few precious increments, then began a steady rhythm of advance and retreat on her pussy. She shuddered in his hold as he continued his sensual campaign, rocking back and forth, murmuring calming, encouraging words against her skin until he was fully buried inside her spasming sex.

  Only then did he pause and allow her to become accustomed to his width and length. The dreams didn’t compare to reality. His muscled arms clutched her tight while his erection throbbed in her pussy. Every pulse, every jerk resonated deep inside her. She shook in his arms, overwhelmed and overtaken. His body covered and filled her. Her flesh was forever tattooed by his scent, his lips, his cock.

  “Shhh…” He eased her like one would a fractious filly. His palm massaged her nape while the other stroked her spine before cupping her ass again. His lips slid up her neck, sipped at her jaw and finally took her lips in a kiss that stirred and soothed.

  “Ready?” he asked. She nodded, her breath a caged prisoner. “Good,” he murmured, then set about fucking her.

  Deep, hard plunges into her pussy. Slow, erotic grinds of his hips. Short, shallow jabs of his cock. He gave them all to her, assuaging and stoking the conflagration building inside her sex. She twisted in his embrace, her cries becoming hoarse mewls as his thrusts alternated, driving her toward orgasm but not letting her go over the edge.

  “Nico,” she rasped, her arms clinging vines around his shoulders. “Please.” She shuddered as his pelvic bone stroked her clit. “Please let me go.”

  Not release her. God, she never wanted him to release her. Just give her release.

  With a moan, he crushed his mouth to hers and as if the leash on his control snapped, he rode her hell-bent-for-leather.

  And flung her into orgasm.

  It crashed into her, over her, inside her.

  The previous two, as cataclysmic as they’d been, couldn’t compare to this devastating soul-shaping event. It changed her. She became a part of the stars and sky she soared to meet.

  And as she plummeted back to earth, wings of the richest chocolate-dipped-in-cream soared above her, filling her vision. She gasped, releasing Nicolai to reach for them. As in her dreams, their beauty never failed to amaze her.

  Tamar closed her eyes, tipped her head back and spread her arms wide.

  She didn’t fear free-falling.

  Not when golden-tipped wings cradled her close to cushion her fall.

  Chapter Seven

  Agony. Fire. Eating her alive…

  Tamar jolted awake and surged upward from the floor.

  Her breath sawed in and out of lips still parted on a soundless scream. Her chest rose and fell on the silent bellows.

  The crash. She’d dreamed of the crash. Of burning flesh.

  The terror of absolute blackness…nothingness except for pain…

  “Tamar?”

  Her head snapped to the side. Nicolai sat beside her, his violet eyes alert, his dark brown brows drawn into a deep vee. He stroked her curls back from her face, brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek then smoothed her hair over her shoulder.

  The simple, loving caresses settled her as no words could.

  Her rapid heartbeat slowed as did her erratic breathing.

  “You okay?” he asked, rubbing a wide circle on her back. His concern warmed her and she sighed. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she shook her head. As the fear receded, embarrassment crept in.

  “A dream. About the crash. I—”

  Searing pain blasted up her legs, her stomach, rounded to her back. She gasped at the torture and bent over at the waist. Her hands shot to her thighs. Both spasmed, darts of agony shooting from the soles of her feet, up her calves and splintering in her thighs.

  “Tamar.” Nicolai’s voice penetrated the veil of red mist that danced before her eyes. Though his tone remained calm, unflappable, he sprang to his feet in a blur of movement, hunkering down beside her. “What is it?”

  “My legs,” she panted, fingers digging into the seizing muscles. “Back.”

  Taking charge, Nicolai removed her hands before laying her amid the tangled covers and sheet. He gripped her left, scarred leg and massaged the limb. His firm kneading traveled beyond the damaged tissue to the muscle, tendons and ligaments beneath. She groaned and arched into his unyielding touch.

  Relief followed. Initially, it trickled in, like the first tentative drops of water from a well’s spout. But as Nicolai kept up his ministrations, it flowed steady and, God, so welcome. She groaned, shifted and groaned again. It was wonderful.

  He worked the entire length of her leg then switched to the other.

  “Roll over,” he said and she obeyed willingly.

  Her back, from the nape to the top of her bottom, received the same treatment. By the time the convulsions quieted to negligible twinges, her body ached as if she’d just run a twenty-six-mile marathon…and had conked out at mile five.

  Despair swelled inside her, a huge squall of grief, frustration and dread. This episode had been the worse yet. Not even the last two nights where she’d had to walk the spasms off had been this bad.

  She squeezed her eyes closed, refusing to wail like a baby and give in to the anguish threatening to swallow her whole.

  Would this be her life? Constant pain with someone always tending her like an invalid? She’d fought so damn hard. When the doctors told her she probably wouldn’t have the use of her arm or leg again, she’d proved them wrong. And when they a
mended their opinion to you will walk with a cane for the rest of your life, she’d pushed herself until she could stand on her own with no assistance.

  Yes, when she over-exerted herself she limped, but she had overcome. Gained her independence. Didn’t have to depend on anyone for the mundane things like going to the bathroom, fetching a glass of water or getting out of the bed.

  And now this.

  The cramps her doctor and physical therapist had warned her about didn’t describe this debilitating pain.

  “How long has this been going on?” Nicolai murmured from above her, his manipulation of her muscles never faltering. It had been a while since the fit had started and yet he worked tirelessly, as if it had been five minutes rather than forty-five.

  “A few months,” she replied and wanted to cringe at the forlorn note in her voice. “My doctor and therapist told me I would experience occasional spasms for the rest of my life, but I assumed they referred to my left side. But these…” she scrambled for the correct word to describe the convulsive attack that had just occurred, “seizures take over my right leg, too, as well as my back. They didn’t mention that. And it scares me. It scares the hell out of me,” she confessed softly.

  “You haven’t told them about it?”

  She shook her head, her cheek brushing the pillow. “This has been the worst episode by far. In the beginning they were twinges, like small cramps. But tonight…” She swallowed hard. “I believed all this was behind me, that I was over the hump. I’d made peace with having some physical limitations like my limp when I push myself too hard. But I can’t accept this, Nico,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

  “You can and you will.”

  The sharp retort stunned her. So much she flipped over and gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

  “You are a fighter,” he stated flatly, sitting back on his heels and crossing his arms. “Just because this is a hurdle you didn’t expect doesn’t mean you lay down and die. You fight to recover just like you did after the crash.” He slowly rose, and then lowered over her in a crouch, shoved his face into hers. “Do you know one of the rules of war?” he asked, his nose bumping hers.

  “Don’t get dead.”

  Amusement flared in his eyes at her biting sarcasm, but he didn’t crack a smile.

  “True,” he said. “But not the one I was thinking of. You cannot defeat an unknown enemy.” His tone hardened, eyes narrowed, sharpened. “Fact-finding. Information gathering. It’s why we scout ahead and infiltrate our enemies’ camps. Dig deep into the methods, lives and psyches of our adversaries. Then we know when, where and how to strike. And when we do, it’s effective and devastating.”

  “Leonidas had nothing on you,” she murmured.

  This time he did smile and its light was a beacon to her battered spirit.

  “You want in on a little secret?” He waited until she nodded before bending his head, nuzzling her ear and whispering, “I taught Leonidas everything he knew.”

  She snickered and slapped his shoulder—the same one that had sported a battle scar days earlier. “Now you’re just bragging, Buckbeak.”

  He laughed and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Go to the doctor, Tamar, and find out what’s the cause of these episodes. Then beat it.”

  “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll go.”

  “Good,” he said before covering her mouth with his. Heat flared to instant life in her chest, her gut, her pussy. She slid her palms up the golden, taut skin of his arms, over the bold tribal tattoo and the tight muscles that stood out in stark relief as he balanced most of his weight on his hands. She didn’t stop until his thick curls were tangled in her fingers. With a hum of pleasure, she gripped his head tight, pulling him closer until their lips and tongues meshed in an erotic battle that had no loser.

  Nicolai drew back. “Are you okay?” he asked, his ragged breath hot blasts of air on her lips. His gaze bored into hers, demanding the truth.

  “Yes,” she assured him, punctuating the answer with a hard kiss. “Don’t stop.”

  “Never.” His vow, serious and fervent, touched her in a place she’d considered dead after Kyle’s betrayal. The place that wanted to believe in the goodness of people. The place that yearned to be innocent and trusting again.

  She stared into his lilac eyes and was reminded of the lily. Life, healing and death. Like the flower, Nicolai comprised all of those elements. He brought death to some so his people could live. And healing…well, he’d been healing her since she’d first dreamed of him three years ago.

  “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever encountered,” she said, the confession hoarse with the awed longing that clogged her throat, stung her eyes. He was turning her into such a water-head! She’d cried more in the last few days than she had in a year.

  His head snapped back as if she’d clipped him on the chin. Surprise parted his lips, slackened his face. In that instant, she guessed no one had ever called him beautiful before. Well shame on them. Someone as devoted, faithful and selfless as him should hear it every day.

  When she thought about how that person should be her, she quickly shoved the idea out and locked the door behind it. This wasn’t forever, but here and now, for however long she remained under his protection. To imagine it could be more…that line of thinking would only lead to heartache.

  So she would make sure to tell him now…while she had him.

  Placing both palms on his chest, she pushed. Complying with her unspoken request, Nicolai straightened. She scooted out from under him and rose, facing him. But she wasn’t satisfied until they’d reversed positions and he had reclined on the pallet and she hovered over him on her hands and knees.

  Lowering her torso, she swept her lips over his, back and forth, back and forth. Impatient, Nicolai grasped her nape and hauled her down for a hot, wet kiss. She surrendered to it, her tongue plunging between his lips to tangle and twist with his. He growled into her mouth, angled his head to the side and dove deeper. Planting her hands on either side of his head, she pressed down and gave as good as she got.

  She nipped his full bottom lip then slicked her tongue over the small wound. He traced the line of her spine and she arched into the slow, sensuous stroke. When he cupped her ass, she purred.

  “No fair,” she grumbled. “This is for you.” His long fingers flexed against her ass cheeks and she wiggled into the caress.

  “Oh, I agree,” he said, hunger bright in his eyes, imprinted on his face. “And I can’t wait to have it.”

  Appalled shock mixed with arousal. He couldn’t possibly mean… His fingertips traced the crease that bisected her bottom. Oh yeah. She groaned, dismayed at the streak of pleasure that coiled in her gut at the taboo touch. He definitely meantthat.

  Shaken by her decided lack of horror and abhorrence to the idea of Nicolai kneeling behind her, filling her in a place only her gynecologist had breached, Tamar closed her eyes and shivered before continuing on her journey.

  She skimmed her lips over his chin, down the strong column of his throat to the wide expanse of his chest. Her tongue traced every whorl and line of his tattoo, worshipped every bit of honey-and-butter skin that covered his massive upper body. Even his fingers received attention—she sucked each digit between her pursed lips, flicking the blunt tips. He grunted and his hips jerked.

  Hmmm… She smiled against his ridged abdomen. She’d discovered a new erogenous zone to be lingered over later. She swirled her tongue in the shallow bowl of his navel then roamed lower to the concave cradle of his pelvic bone. Beneath her, Nicolai stiffened, apparently surmising her eventual destination. His chest rose and fell and his hips rolled restlessly. The turgid length of his cock grazed her cheek as she knelt between his spread legs and his musky scent of heather and sex enveloped her.

  Her mouth watered for a taste of him. Anticipation, hot and urgent, pulsed in her veins. Her pussy clenched and cream spilled from between her lips. She remembered his silken column on her tongue in their dreams. Damn, she w
anted it. Needed it.

  Settling on her heels, Tamar fisted his cock. A long, tortured moan rolled from above her head as he bowed into her hand and gripped the blankets beneath him. Even in the middle of passion he considered her, avoided causing her pain by not tugging on her hair and irritating the cut on her scalp.

  Wow. She blinked. He must be the only man on the planet to be altruistic while receiving head.

  She swiped the flat of her tongue over the swollen tip of his cock that reminded her of a ripe peach. On a moan of pure delight, she sucked him deep. Her lips stretched wide around the stalk of flesh that was almost as thick as his wrist. She slid his cock deep into her mouth, pumping the broad lower half with short, tight strokes.

  “Tamar,” he gritted between clenched teeth. “Suck it, sweetheart. Suck it harder for me.”

  She hollowed her cheeks, giving him the suction he desired. The taste of him exploded in her mouth. Like a summer breeze over the ocean—warm, good, sweet with a touch of salt. She moaned, slid her tongue along the underside of his cock while increasing the pull of her mouth. Inching higher on her knees, she angled her head over the throbbing column and swallowed another inch of him. The bulbous head nudged the back of her throat and the narrow opening tightened. Hunger and determination overrode the reflex and like in her dreams, Tamar relaxed, breathed through her nose and allowed the tip of his cock head to enter her throat passage.

  A raw, primitive growl that was nowhere near human rumbled from him and reverberated through the room. Something just as old awakened inside her, lifted its head and reached out toward that sound—as if a strange being inhabited her body and had been hibernating until the moment he’d called it to life. Her mouth slackened for a moment and a sliver of fear pierced her heavy haze of desire.